The Theory of Harry Potter
by Jim-Po
Summary: The story of Harry Potter as a child. oneshot


The Theory of Harry Potter

By Jim-Po

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me : (

Harry sulked. He was ordered to wash the dishes again. It just wasn't fair! He eyed Dudley-who-never-did-dishes consume an entire cake and sneered. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were big bullies. Dudley was a small bully. Logically, they were a family of bullies.

" Boy!"Uncle Vernon snapped impatiently, flicking a toothpick onto a dirty plate.

The boy wrestled the dishes to the sink and reluctantly started to wash them. Soothed by warm water flowing through fingers, his mind wandered. He thought about Aunt Petunia, who looked at him as if he was a shameless cheat. Dudley's feverant belief in cooties. Uncle Vernon's ferocious "frown-of-disapproval" and an even more ferocious beard. While contemplating "The theory of Uncle Vernon's beard", a plate slipped from dreaming fingers and crashed into the sink.

_Oh bloody pink dino-.._

Uncle Vernon grabbed him by the shirt and threw him into the cupboard.

Harry rubbed what he suspected to be a bruised elbow and wrapped his arms around arms around his knees. He gazed at the low ceiling, watching hazy patches of black spiders scuttle around in an even blacker cupboard. Lulled by the hypnotic swirl of spiders, the weak light dancing on moving bodies, and the cozy feeling of being surrounded by silent energy, the boy shifted as he dreamt of the "Theory of Harry"

His relatives were not that bad, really. With the company of his strict relatives, the boy grew wiser as he grew older. The dishes did not do themselves. The garden was not to be watered in the afternoon, and despite of Dudley's claim that he was a bug, he was not (Think, foolish boy! A bug has six legs!). Despite all the disapproving sneers that he received, the Dursleys' always gave honest opinions and answers. (Yes, they disliked him)

So when Harry received an odd letter delivered by an owl while he was diligently watering the garden at 5 am in the morning, he held it up above his head and demanded an answer. His Uncle's terrifying mustache quivered once before he brought him into the living room.

"Boy", his uncle grimaced," there are things that we ought to tell you. We don't like it, you probably don't like it, but that is not our problem."

Harry fumbled with the hem of his large shirt before looking up. "Sir?" His uncle crossed and uncrossed his legs.

" You are a wizard...A...special one."

"Wizard." Then again, Uncle Vernon never lied.

Uncle Vernon grinned. Towering over the small boy, he leaned in until his breathe caressed Harry's small ear, " Yes, I wonder if people still hang them like they used too." The large beefy man settled onto a large arm chair before counting off the vital information that Harry needed to know.

" Your witchy mother and father were killed by this witchy mass murder. Your godfather is a traitor and a serial killer. They're probably both out for your blood. Have you ever wondered how many ways a wizard can kill a person?"

That night, Harry suffocated himself in his blanket as fear and sweat ooze from his pores. He dreamed of swinging bodies from branches. A story of a girl who seeks the comfort of her dog by lowering her hand over the edge of her bed and a serial killer who licks her open palm. Magic dolls who dance across the bodies of sleeping owners.

Harry stumbled out of his cupboard and clung onto his uncle's leg.

"Save me" he whispered, shaking,.

His uncle hesitated before bending down and placing a gentle hand on Harry's head. He placed a guilty circular pat on the back of Harry's neck. It was only then did Harry start to cry. For the first time in his life,Harry felt the vague abstract sense of belonging. His heart shuddered at the rush of comfort and joy—the feeling of being saved and protected—feelings that the spiders in his lonely cupboard could never bring.

It took a month until the police discovered a small corpse buried under sunny petunias, a rotting noose still around the neck.

end

A/N I'll pretend that English is not my first language, because frankly, my English sucks. I can't really tell the difference between nouns blah blah blah. I'm pretty new to this writing thingy but feel free to flame me. : D

The story about the serial killer is this story that I heard when I was quite small. It was about a girl who was left alone in the house. Her parents told her to lock all windows and doors because there was a serial killer on the loose. The girl owned a large dog that could protect her. That night, she went to bed and couldn't sleep, so she lowered her hand over the side of her bed where her dog slept. The dog would lick her hand, telling her that everything was all right. She felt very worried so she kept lowering her hand. Then she decided to get a drink and when she went into the kitchen, the kitchen window was opened. I can't remember the whole story, but I remember that it was the serial killer who had been licking her hand and the head of her dog was stuck somewhere (in the bathroom, I think)

The doll thing was something that I was afraid as a child. At first, I had this cat who's arms could protect my neck while I slept(I think I was afraid of vampires or something). But then it started to become a phobia of my stuff animal strangulating me while I was sleeping. The neck really is a vulnerable part of your body.


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